


Cover-up

by maryfic



Category: Criminal Minds, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drug Addiction, Flirting, Gen, Magical Tattoos, POV Alternating, Past Drug Use, Past Relationship(s), Recreational Drug Use, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2017-12-30 13:38:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maryfic/pseuds/maryfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spencer knows exactly what this is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [freakingdork](https://archiveofourown.org/users/freakingdork/gifts).



> Life ink is not my invention – I couldn’t tell you the first time I heard or read of it, but no theft of creative ideas are meant. The history is mine. 
> 
> Mysophobia – fear of uncleanliness, basically a germophobe. 
> 
> Dedicated to freakingdork - who gave this fledgling CM writer just the boost she needed.

_Virginia_

He’d first read of it in a book of his mother’s, long ago, hidden behind the regular - Muggle – books that seemed to be everywhere in their home. 

_Life ink was first created by the potions master Elias Bramsfeld around 467. Rumor at the time speculated it came from the fae, or perhaps the elves. It is quite possible Bramsfeld could have even discovered it in a fever dream. But no one truly knows the origins of a potion that responds so intimately to a wizard’s unspoken desires._

_It is said to possess many properties, a lot of which are still, as of this writing, undiscovered. Great caution is to be advised when contemplating the personal use of such a dangerous magical substance._

Then, at the end, a footnote to the effect that its use had been banned and then regulated by the British Ministry of Magic, yet freely used among American wizards. 

Spencer had simply been seeking to fill his days, then, and it was odd that now, when he was trying to do the same, the book came back into his memory. 

His year anniversary of being clean had come and gone, and somehow it was harder to maintain now, with the cool slickness of the chip between his fingers, then when it had just been him, late at night, on the phone with Penelope, or David, or Hotch, or Derek, trying to slow his racing heart and panicked mind, latching onto the latest stories about computers, or girls, or football, or Jack; whatever his friends _family_ had at hand to save him from drowning. 

He should visit his mother, regardless; it had been six months since the last visit, and he’d missed that one, only managing a phone call from his bathroom, Hotch draping a cloth over his sweaty neck as he’d fought withdrawal and the memory of Tobias doing the same. 

A call to Garcia managed the time off request – Spencer had more than enough to take a few days, and they didn’t have a case, she assured him. His mind already in Las Vegas – oddly, in a storage unit and not an asylum – Reid took the metro to the airport and bought a ticket for the first flight out. 

 

******************

 

Winchelsea, England

 

There were whispers of Severus Snape, still; he’d escaped trial after the war, spoken for by as many parties as had against. The potions master had retired to a quiet village near Dover, the sea doing much to strip away what the years, and grief, and both dogs that had been tearing at him; had done. 

Left to his own devices, the tall, angular man plied a trade that none still alive knew he had the skill to do – wizard tattooing. The painting of the life ink onto flesh; the ability to connect flesh to ink to magic; it was a terribly difficult spell to execute, especially if you weren’t an Occlumens. 

The last person he’d painted had been Sirius, and Severus’s hands and mouth twitched as he remembered what had followed the pain and had drowned them both - the foggy haze of sex and liquor and drugs. London in the 1970s had been a freedom Snape had never known before, and away from the confines of Hogwarts and the Mauraders, he’d found a party companion in the exiled Sirius, a complete disappointment to his family and god knew who else. Neither of them cared, and it was a set of memories Severus held too dear to keep in his mind, where (presumably) a stronger Occlumens could force them to the surface and use them against Severus. 

He didn’t take many customers for tattooing, and he supplemented the infrequency of one job with the steady work of another. The former professor had contracts not only in England, but also France, Russia, and the States to provide every sort of potion from standard pepper-ups to Wolfsbane. The privacy also gave him time to work on experimental potions, though many years and two wars had passed, he still remembered a promise he’d made to old friends, unable to communicate their desperation behind mad eyes. 

All this being taken into account, he was quite surprised to find someone knocking on his door late in the afternoon. 

******

_Las Vegas_

Spencer had discharged familial obligations faster than normal, Diana had been having a very, very bad day, and after four hours, he couldn’t take the screaming and crying anymore ( _such a bad son_ ) and the doctors had finally intervened with a heavy dose of sedatives. Now he was struggling to fit a key into a padlock that hadn’t been breached in years, and pulling up the sliding metal doors that groaned and protested each inch of movement. 

Finally, bared in bright splashes of Spencer’s flashlight, he saw his past – packed up neatly in his own handwriting, each box labeled precisely with the date, room, and contents. When he’d put things in the storage locker, he’d left a clear path to the back, and it was there he went, searching for _12/5/99 Living Room Books Left Case_. 

He knelt and slit the tape with the pocketknife Morgan had given him for his birthday last year ( _Never know when it’ll come in handy, pretty boy_ ) and the memory of the absurd gift makes him smile. His hands move on autopilot, removing and stacking books on literature, botany, and anatomy, before he finds what he’s looking for – the magic books. 

Reid knows about magic, about wizards. He is one, after all – albeit an untrained one. Diana grew too ill before she could enroll him in any school, and no letter of welcome came to rescue him from the public, normal life he was forced to fake – with no guiding hands, he was simply a boat lost in the current. 

But he was a man, almost thirty, and he didn’t have the time or desire to lose himself in bad memories of his childhood. His hand touched _Taboo in the Wizarding World_ and he slipped the small volume into his satchel and repacked the box, regretting momentarily he didn’t have tape to reseal it. Something imperfect in his perfectly ordered world.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love.

The first sign she had that anything was wrong was when one of her alerts pinged. Penelope quickly switched programs on her laptop and adjusted her glasses to re-read the information. One of her little duckling’s passport had pinged as being used at JFK – Spencer’s. Concern fluttered in her belly as her brightly painted fingernails flew over the soft keys and drew more information from the machine. 

A midnight flight to Frankfurt? What could her baby possibly be doing? Surely nothing had happened to him….her cyber-walk took her to to Spencer’s bank account and she felt a small flash of guilt before ruthlessly cutting it down. 

A five thousand dollar charge had just been put through. That was it. 

Penelope’s hand dialed automatically. 

“Hi, Garcia.” The call was expected as Spencer walked swiftly through the airport to his gate. 

“Are you being kidnapped?” 

“No, Pen.” 

“Then I can kill you. Why are you going to Frankfurt?” 

A sigh floated between them. “It’s complicated.” 

Complicated meant Tobias, these days. “Oh, my love, my sweet love. You don’t have to do this.” 

He licked his lips and completely missed the admiring glances he drew as he did so. “Penelope, I’ll be back on Monday. I…hope.” 

Panic. “What? Why wouldn’t you be back?” 

“I’m looking for someone. Garcia, I-I have to go, they want my shoes.” 

Reluctantly, she let him hang up, but resolved to track her little duckling while he was so far out of the next. Pursing her lips, Penelope’s next move was to extend Spencer’s time off. She bit her lip against threatened tears as she marked “unknown return date”. 

*************

Spencer and Severus stared at each other across the threshold of the cabin slash cottage slash Snape lair for nearly a minute before Severus said, “Can I help you, mate?” 

Spencer was taken off guard, despite the many scenarios he’d played out in his mind on the flight, then the train, then the ferry ride to Dover, and finally, walking the four miles to this small village and the man he sought. 

“I was told you deal in Life ink.” 

It would have been an odd opening statement, Severus thought as he looked at the gangly young man in front of him, if it hadn’t been so terribly obvious that the other man was fighting addiction. Winning, most days, he’d wager. But not all. And it was the other days that were killing him. 

“You might have heard correctly.” But he still didn’t move. 

“You knew my mother.” Spencer offered, a mild desperation coloring his tone. 

And then he saw it. The lips, full in the man’s sharp features; the eyes, staring at him, accusing after another night of binging with Sirius. “Diana’s boy, aren’t you?” 

Relief. “Yes, Spencer Reid.” For once it doesn’t matter that he is a doctor, as his hand squeezed the book he held like a talisman. “You gave this to her, I’ve read the inscription –“ 

“Ālīs volat propriīs” they said together, and the tension between them eased slightly. 

Severus stepped back as though it had been a password to gain entry to the gates of Hades. 

Small talk didn’t seem appropriate, even to ask after an old school friend, so he simply waited the boy out, moving into the kitchen and continuing his afternoon ritual of tea – sorting, chopping, steeping, pouring. It soothed him as much as anything did these days. 

Spencer followed, unsure of his footing but unwilling to back down. “I’d like a life ink tattoo. Sir. Or would you prefer Master?” 

He said it with such little guile, so innocently, that Severus almost felt bad for the jerk of arousal. Almost. But he couldn’t hide the pleasure in his tone or the smirk that graced his features, or the words that followed the smirk. He turned to catch Reid’s reaction to his words. 

“Well, Master is more appropriate to…intimate settings.” 

And it was worth it, seeing him still, like a frightened rabbit before a fox. But he forged ahead bravely, his eyes lifting to meet Severus’ in open challenge. 

“Then Master it is.” Severus’ lips curved into more of a smile. This could be very interesting, this potential game, if Spencer had the wherewithal to play. Even if he didn’t, he’d already decided to give the young man the tattoo. Provided he could pay. What price he would ask, the potions master wasn’t sure yet. 

He poured tea and took it to the table. “We’ll begin work after tea. Do you drink tea, Spencer?” 

He blinked a few times and had to find the answer. It was harder to think around that voice, like gravel dragged through caramel. You knew it could hurt, but you would gladly go with it if it asked. “Yes. I prefer coffee, though.” But he picked up the tea cup. 

Severus preferred silence, and he used to the time to watch Reid, to find Diana in more than physical features. He sipped slowly and catalogued idly, clinically. Messy dark curls, likely he brushed wet or used gel in periods of less stress. Nails clipped to the quick, too mysophobic to actually bite them down that far. Anxiety or nervousness, likely the first, a side effect of personality and addiction. 

Severus had been addicted to more substances in his life than he could count on one hand, but by the grace of being a wizard it hadn’t harmed him too badly. This young man was showing severe damage, but he was clearly magical, Snape could feel it pouring off him. 

Finishing his tea, he rose and took the second cup as well. 

“Hey, I was –“ 

“Not drinking that,” Severus drawled. “Come into my workroom and we’ll begin. The process will take time, I suggest you call anyone that might look for you, I don’t tolerate interruptions.” 

He’d forgotten all about Garcia in the interim, something about the warm kitchen and the very aura of the potions master had driven her and Virginia from his mind. Quantico and the BAU seemed very far away right now; further away than when Dilaudid took his mind and left him floating, numb, above his body. 

It was a nice feeling, once he wished he could bottle and take back with him. Because he would have to, eventually. 

Go back. 

 

******

Virginia

David was sitting on Garcia’s desk when her cell phone beeped. She turned and snatched it up, a smile breaking her look of concentration. “Our Spencer checking back in?” he asked. He’d watched Garcia fret for the last day and it was good to see relief ease her features. Her beauty was undiminished by the lines of tension, of course, but Rossi was an Italian man with no desire to see any of the women in his life unhappy. 

“He’s in England, some little village called Winchelsea.” 

“About forty miles outside of Dover,” he replied, and she turned her gaze to him.

“And how do you know such exact things, my pet?” 

“Book signings get a little repetitive when you aren’t interested in the groupies anymore, kitten.”

Nothing more was said, and she let it go, keying in a response to Spencer and turning back to the bank of computers in front of her. 

“Now, how many missing men, did you say?” 

Their conversation continued until it moved into the round room, and Spencer was pushed to the back of their minds, for the moment.


End file.
